Chapter 13 #3
I make the call in the car. Jenny Whitmore is excited to hear from me, even more thrilled when I pitch the Castellano opportunity. By the time we pull into the parking garage at Lochlan's building, I have a verbal commitment for a meeting next week.
“Done,” I say, clicking to end the call. “Harrington-Cole is interested. The meeting's set.”
Lochlan turns off the ignition. Neither of us makes a move to get out of the car, though.
“You just saved a man's business and outmaneuvered a Russian crime syndicate,” he says. “In about forty-five minutes. From a hospital hallway.”
I chuckle. “I had good cell reception.”
He laughs. “Yeah, and a serious pair of brass balls.”
The space between us shrinks, closing in on all the things I’m afraid to name.
It’s suddenly hard to breathe, like all the air is being sucked out of my lungs.
Or maybe his mere presence is just that all-consuming.
I can’t stop looking at him — his sharp, chiseled jaw, the calming pools of blue that pull me deep. And somehow, I can’t seem to resist.
“What?” I ask.
“Nothing,” he says, his gaze laser-focused on me.
“You're staring.”
“I'm admiring.” He still doesn't look away. “There's a difference.”
My heart leaps up in my chest. I ignore it. Because I have to. Because this… whatever it is… is too ridiculous to acknowledge.
“We should go inside,” I say.
“Probably.”
Neither of us moves.
The air between us is charged. Electric. Like the moment before a storm breaks. I could take a bite of the tension, it’s so thick. Goosebumps shoot up my arms under the weight of his heated stare.
It would be so easy to lean forward, to close the distance between us and—
His phone buzzes, jarring the silence.
We both jolt, and the moment shatters.
He glances at the screen, his jaw tightening. “It’s Cillian. I should take this.”
I smooth the back of my hair and grab the door handle. “Of course.” I push open the door and launch myself out, gulping down air that doesn't smell like him. Blood rushes between my ears as I press a hand against my pounding heart.
What the hell was that?
His voice floats over to my ears, low and controlled. I catch little snippets of the conversation. Something about Venom, about a delivery, about nothing that concerns me. I dart toward the elevator, not looking back.
By the time he catches up, I’m protected again. Walls up. Emotions shut down.
“Everything okay?” I ask, struggling to keep my tone casual after that car scene knocked me for a complete loop.
“Fine. Just bar stuff.” He watches me with an expression I can't read. Or maybe I just don’t want to. “Adriana—"
“We should get upstairs. I have more calls to make,” I say, shutting him down before he can finish his thought — or resume whatever the hell that way back there.
Because what happened didn’t mean anything.
I chalk it up to my moment of victory back at the hospital.
And he just happened to be there celebrating it with me.
His approval made me feel good. Powerful. Strong. And I love that. Need that.
A chill slips down my spine.
It’s like he knows.
All the more reason to kill the words before he can say them.
He's quiet for a moment, disappointment shadowing his expression. “Right. Calls.”
The elevator ride is silent. But this time, it’s not comfortable silence. It's the kind of silence that's full of things unsaid. Of a moment that almost happened and didn't.
When we get back to the penthouse, Reaper jumps at us, tail wagging, immediately pressing against my legs like I've been gone for years instead of hours. I reach down to pat his head, happy to give Reaper my attention so I don’t have to look at Lochlan and see evidence of things that can’t possibly be real.
“I'll be in the bedroom,” I say, keeping my eyes on Reaper. “Working.”
“I'll be here if you need anything.”
I nod and ignore the hint of resignation in his voice. Then I quickly walk down the hallway, my throat tight. I don't look back.
But I feel his eyes on me the whole way, burning my skin, heating my blood.
In the bedroom, I close the door and lean against it. I take a few deep breaths to calm my racing heart. It doesn’t work. At all. I can still see Lochlan’s face, the intensity of his gaze, like he was searching for my soul through my eyes.
I saw it. I felt it. And I know he did, too.
I press my hands to my temples and swallow a groan.
This is crazy. Nothing happened. Nothing happened, and I'm acting like—
Like something almost did.
I press my palms to my eyes and take a breath. I have work to do. A family to run. A crisis to manage. I don't have time for whatever this is. Whatever he is.
But when I sit down to make my calls, I can still feel the ghost of that moment in the car, hovering over my shoulder. My skin tingles from the electricity coursing through me at the memory.
I shake my head. Focus, dammit!
The kiss didn't happen. That's good. That's smart. That's exactly what needed to not happen.
I toss my pen on the desk and sit back in the chair, a deep sigh heaving my chest.
So why am I so disappointed?